


A Takeaway For Two.

by CreamcheeseBagel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Platonic Life Partners, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sad and Happy, Wing Injury, injured crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 23:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19187650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamcheeseBagel/pseuds/CreamcheeseBagel
Summary: Crowley has been missing for six hours, six minutes and six seconds after a small conversation with Hastur.‘I merely suggested that if he really wanted to talk…he could help me locate my shoe,’ Crowley grumbled, staring pointedly at the snake skin shoes.‘Where would this have been lost?’ the angel snipped.‘Oh, well, up his arse I would have thought,’.





	A Takeaway For Two.

**Author's Note:**

> An impromptu summoning to Hell has left Crowley a little worse for wear...

Crowley groaned. He didn’t mind the groaning. If push came to shove and he had to admit to the fact that yes he had groaned, and not cried, then he would so choose to state this. He would be damned, again most certainly, to even draw notice to the fact that six hours, six minutes and six seconds- if we are being pedantic, ago he had been crying. Not a little tear mind you; huge, salty, pain aching tears that really left most eyes red and puffy and wanting to close for an eternity.

However Crowley had since ceased crying and resigned himself to the not entirely comfortable leather sofa he often had found others crying upon.  
It wasn’t that he had nefariously committed both men and women to blubbering masses upon his sleek sofa before today; infact, the humans had merely invited themselves within his flat with a wink and whisper. Crowley may be a demon, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a gentleman. The humans would sate him, he begrudgingly would return the favour, and then the spineless bipeds would begin to squawk about their own shortcomings, and how really they weren’t to blame for getting sweaty with another who most definitely did not share their surname.

This, alongside the fact that it took a good deal of time to create aesthetically pleasing genitals, arguably male by humans limited parameters (and they also created such a mess), had enlightened Crowley to the small thought that he didn’t particularly care for ruining any long-standing marriages of the late.

As such it was that Crowley found himself furiously wiping at his eyes, his dark wings drooped around him. His feathered appendages were quite worse for wear, but nothing he could not see to once his strength returned.

His thoughts wandered to the angel, as they were oft to in moments of quiet reflection. It wasn’t that he missed the bumbling manifestation of good, but rather he wouldn’t say no to a little healing touch right about now.

It was at that moment the air grew lighter within the flat, and thick and fresh all at once. A sharp rap at the door accompanied the literal breath of fresh air.

‘Come in,’ Crowley called out, retracting his wings and lounging back. A familiar pair of glasses now sat firm upon his face. ‘Are you lost, angel?’.

Aziraphale pottered into the lounge and the dark corners of recess fled a little farther afield. The angel rung his plump hands nervously, his face an amusing attempt at hiding a smile.

‘I haven’t seen you about in a while, Crowley. And then all of a sudden my local bakery flooded, and I thought you must have returned!’.

‘You have to admit their prices are almost _criminal_ ’.

Aziraphale allowed a small smile.

‘I would not leave without you, angel,’ Crowley continued, making room for his friend beside him.

The angel beamed brightly, bumping shoulders immediately. ‘I would hope not, my dear. No one has quite that tongue of yours’.

Crowley felt his eyebrows rise. He smiled wickedly. ‘Oh, and here I almost believed you enjoyed my company?’,

‘No-oh. Oh! You know what I meant!’ Aziraphale squeaked, his hands gesturing wildly in the air. ‘Only you could make a conversation sound so lewd’.

Crowley hummed, it would be no good to retaliate and fluster the angel further.

‘But Crowley,’ Aziraphale whispered, turning to stare fiercely into the lenses. ‘You’ve been gone a week-‘.

‘Felt like hours-‘.

‘-I couldn’t sense your presence. I know this kerfuffle with er both sides has been postponed, but I must admit I began to worry in your absence…I thought that you may have been apprehended’.

Crowley sucked in sharply, the air rushing back out in a long hiss. ‘Hastur thought it appropriate to speak with me-‘

Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s thigh, his grip unusually tight.

‘And what in the world did you two _discuss_?’

‘I merely suggested that if he really wanted to talk…he could help me locate my shoe,’ Crowley grumbled, staring pointedly at the snake skin shoes.

‘Where would this have been lost?’ the angel snipped.

‘Oh, well, up his arse I would have thought,’ Crowley snapped, looming closer. The fingers around his thigh tightened and he winced at the alarmingly heat that followed. The sensation abruptly cut off as Aziraphale relaced his fingers in his lap.

Crowley sunk away into the arm of the sofa, his form feeling miraculously soothed. He kicked a leg up and draped this in the angel’s lap, the other he tucked closer to himself. To anyone else the position would probably look extraordinarily uncomfortable, but Crowley was decidedly content.

‘Should I expect any more sudden excursions Down Under?’ Aziraphale spat before realising how uncouth he was being, in which he began to trace small patterns into the flesh of Crowley’s exposed ankle. ‘I apologise, that was rude of me. I know I’m upset but that is no excuse, my dear. I meant to ask if that would be the last contact?’.

Crowley gingerly released the curled leg into Aziraphale’s lap and allowed him to gently work his hands along his ankles and calves. It hurt less for the pair to touch each other now than it had once; blistering and bubbling skin had morphed into heat laced sensations, more akin to playing with wax or a hot stone massage than layer upon layer of skin being peeled backwards cell by cell.  
Atleast now Aziraphale could gently mend any physical ailment of Crowley’s without fear he would become a withering mass of bodily goo, and promptly have to spend a century in line for a new vessel.

Neither spoke of the extent of the wounds Aziraphale was currently healing, or the why or what of Hastur’s conversation.

‘Yes,‘ Crowley sighed, shutting his eyes. ‘More importantly, I know what you’re like when you’re anxious so once you unhand me I’ll take us for a bite to eat’.

Aziraphale continued kneading his friend’s calves, allowing for the lacerations he could not reach nor feel to knit seamlessly. He would ask to run his fingers across Crowley’s wings only when he chose to manifest them.

‘I believe humans are still partial to dining in with a film,’ Aziraphale offered, smiling as Crowley buried his face deeper into his arms and grunted. ‘An indian sounds delightful, however we should eat once you’ve slept…’. However the demon had already begun to snore lightly.

Aziraphale gently worked himself out from Crowley’s long legs. The demon’s skin continued to glow slightly, a testament of how hard the angel had worked. Aziraphale knew his friend found actions easier than words, so he revelled in the thanks he would never ask for and went about finding the kitchen as so that he could lay the table for two.


End file.
